


wet dreams may come

by ArsenicPanda



Series: phantasiae [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Compliant, Collars, Dom Betty Cooper, Dom Jughead Jones, Exhibitionism, F/M, Leashes, Masturbation, Pet Play, Post 1x06, Praise Kink, Sex Dreams, Smut, Sub Betty Cooper, Sub Jughead Jones, Toys, brief mentions of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 00:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20684831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArsenicPanda/pseuds/ArsenicPanda
Summary: Betty laughs, beautiful and light, and he cannot help but turn back to her when she places her hands on his. The diamond ring and gold band on her left hand sparkle in the light, and he tries to remember when he gave them to her. He comes up blank, but that doesn’t matter now that she’s moving his hand off the table and down, down, down.He stares as she slips his hand under her skirt and places it on her stocking-covered knee. She smooths her skirt over his hand and doesn’t so much as blink as she asks, “So, Mom, how was your day?”Or: Jughead dreams of Betty Cooper.





	wet dreams may come

When Jughead opens his eyes, he is surprised to find himself sitting in the Coopers' dining room with friends and family. It is like something out of a magazine, with bright colors and floral patterns everywhere. Dinner is prepared on the table, a huge spread of food before him, ready to be served onto their empty pink plates. He doesn’t feel like eating.

He does not need to look to know that Betty sits to his left, with a smiling Veronica and two empty chairs across from them and Mr. Cooper at the head of the table to his right. The chair to Jughead’s right is missing.

When Jughead turns to his right, he sees Mrs. Cooper bringing in the ideal turkey, right down to the little booties on its feet. She sets it down to his right, and his eyes flit from her to the turkey and then her again, just in time to see her and Mr. Cooper chastely kiss.

When he faces forward, he can see Mrs. Cooper sitting across from Hal on his left. He turns to look at Betty and sees Mrs. Cooper, no doubt on her way back from putting down the turkey, kissing her on the cheek.

After Mrs. Cooper returns to her seat, he takes in Betty. She is beautiful, like always. Her hair is shorter, curlier, elegant in a way reminiscent of Grace Kelly in Rear Window, and a bright pink sweater covers a white collared shirt with gold embroidery on the collar. He tries not to stare at the outline of her bra under her clothes; this is a family dinner, not a time to gawk at the love of his life.

He forces his eyes away and sees Polly and Jason sitting across from him. Have they been there all night? They must have been. Jughead ignores how their smiles are as vacant as their eyes.

Betty laughs, beautiful and light, and he cannot help but turn back to her when she places her hands on his. The diamond ring and gold band on her left hand sparkle in the light, and he tries to remember when he gave them to her. He comes up blank, but that doesn’t matter now that she’s moving his hand off the table and down, down, down. 

He stares as she slips his hand under her skirt and places it on her stocking-covered knee. She smooths her skirt over his hand and doesn't so much as blink as she asks, "So, Mom, how was your day?"

He turns back to the table but keeps his hand on her knee, rubbing it with his thumb and trying to place the feel of her stocking. His plate is full, and he ignores the turkey in favor of the mashed potatoes so he never has to stop touching her.

Betty says something to her dad, but it sounds like gibberish because her hand is on his again. Jughead's fork hits his plate with a _ ping_, and he turns and stares as she moves his hand up and up and up, over her stocking and past her garter belt. For a moment he wants to stop and linger on it, but then his hand is over her underwear, and he takes it all back.

Jughead freezes with his mouth agape, but Betty doesn't miss a beat in her conversation, talking to Veronica now. "Oh, of course I'd love to come." She turns to him and winks as she presses his hand down to stroke her. "You'll help me, won't you, Juggie?"

His eyes snap back to the table, and he just barely squeaks out, "Y-Yeah, any time."

Betty removes her hand and returns to dinner, but rocks her hips forward, and Jughead takes the hint.

He keeps his eyes on his plate as he strokes her with two fingers. She's wet, soaked through her panties, and he gulps at the feeling. He moves slowly at first, trying to find his bearings, but Betty grinds against his hand, insistent, and he presses harder. Soon, he finds a spot that makes her gasp and grab the table.

"Elizabeth, are you ok?"

"O-Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine, please continue," she replies, punctuating her sentence with a thrust.

Jughead turns to watch Betty now as he circles her clit and she grinds against his fingers. He laments his bare hand, somehow knowing how much she likes the feel of his wedding ring against her. Still, he can hear her panting slightly, just like when she's finished a run, and he wants _ more_.

Just as he's daring to move his fingers under her panties, he hears Mrs. Cooper. "Forsythe, are you done with your dinner?"

But his eyes haven't left Betty, whose lips have turned into a secretive smile. "Yes, I think it's time for dessert, isn't it, Juggie?"

She pulls his hand away from her pussy, and he whines at the loss of contact; he wanted to make her come, see her unravel on his fingers. But she sucks her slick off his fingers and pulls him up out of his seat. Betty hops onto the table where his dinner had been, and he sees that everyone else has left. As she spreads her legs for him to stand between, he remembers, _ Oh right, dessert_.

He peels her sweater off to reveal a pink bra, so much like the swimsuit she wore last summer but for the lace around the edge and the cut. If it was any lower, he could see her nipples, and god, does he want that. He bends forward to take one in his mouth, yearning to lick, suck, and bite, but Betty stops him.

She wags her finger at him. "Nuh-uh, Juggie, that's not dessert tonight." She strokes his cheek with her finger and thumb. When her thumb lands on his lower lip, he bites at it, but she moves so she's grasping his chin and tilting it down. "You know what to eat."

He does.

He tries to remember if she's loud or not, if he should shove his beanie in her mouth to keep her quiet. But no, he wants to hear her tonight as she moans his name, a sound he can't quite recall and craves more than anything. Besides, she _ is _in charge tonight.

She tugs him by his chin again; he's taking too long. "Aren't you hungry?"

He leans in to whisper in her ear, "I'm famished," and grins at her shudder. It's a familiar dance, one he never tires of.

"Then eat up." Her grin matches his as she pushes his head down, and he happily sinks to his knees, cherishing the feel of her hand on his head, the feel of her rings against his scalp.

The floor is hardwood and uncomfortable to kneel on, but he doesn't give a damn, pushing her legs apart and licking his lips in anticipation. He can’t help himself when he asks, "Care to show me what I'm eating? Presentation is half the meal, and I want to see if it's nice and wet for me."

"Mmm, it always is." Her voice is low, like she's telling a secret, and he swallows in anticipation. He considers palming his throbbing cock for a bit of relief, but she'd be disappointed if his hands weren't free to play with his dessert, and he can't have that.

She drags her skirt up slowly, inch by inch by tantalizing inch, and he follows, follows, follows, breath shaky, until he is almost close enough to see, touch, _ taste_— 

_ BEEP BEEP BEEP _

He wakes with a start, reality crashing back into him as he fumbles to turn off his shrill phone alarm before lying back down. He's not on his knees in front of the most beautiful spread he’s ever seen, but instead on his back on the floor of a school closet alone with his hard on. The dreams are getting worse (_better_, part of him whispers), more explicit and closer to the fantasies he pretends he doesn't have, and god, they feel so real in the moment.

Fuck, he's hard, painfully so, and he aches for release. It wouldn't be wrong, would it, to finish himself off so long as he kept his thoughts to himself, didn't drag Betty into it? She's kissed him back once, but that doesn't mean she wants to star in his sick jerk-off session.

She deserves better than that.

His cock throbs, and he gives into desire, spitting on his hand and slipping it below the waistband of his boxers. He strokes himself slowly, teasing the head and spreading the precum he finds there. As long as he doesn't think of how her pussy would feel under his tongue, he's in the clear.

He focuses on his cock, on the feel of his hand, rough from winter, as it moves up and down. He does not think of Betty’s hand against his face, of how small and smooth it would be as it pumps him, struggling against the rope around her wrists. He wouldn't revel in the cold metal of the rings on her left hand as she rubs him, slow and teasing at first, but faster and firmer when he yanks her hair. She wouldn't moan as he turns up the intensity of the vibrator attached to her clit and then preen and whimper _ thank you, Master _ when he tells her what a good girl she is.

He does not think of tugging her toward him by the leash attached to her collar (the cute pink one with the dog tag he'd given her for their first wedding anniversary, the one that matches his own), making her crawl to him on hands and knees with her ass, red from her spanking, high in the air. She wouldn't look up at him with those green, green eyes full of trust, and he wouldn't grab her by the ponytail and thrust into her mouth so he could feel her lips, which were so soft against his when they'd kissed, wrapped around his cock. Her pretty pink lipstick wouldn't smear as she takes him deep, her tongue massaging him the whole way.

He does not think of her riding his face as he strains against ropes that tie him to their bed, burning with the need to touch her. Her thighs clenched around his head, her fishnets wouldn't scratch against his cheeks, and he wouldn't barely see her tits bouncing over her corset from his position under her. With one hand tugging on his hair—her engagement ring catching in it—and the other teasing his cock with her nails, she wouldn't grind against his face, chanting his name and calling him a good boy while he desperately sucks on her clit and moans into her cunt.

He does not think of the sound of her as she gags on his cock, the taste of her as he licks into her, the sight of her on their wedding night, the feel of her—

But _ BettyBettyBetty _spills from his lips as he spills into his hand.

He stares at the shame coating his fingers and palm. Would she lick it off him, hungry for his cum and with that look of fondness in her eyes as she fingers—

“I’m so fucked up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Jughead, you're not the lowest of the low, stop kinkshaming yourself. Special thanks to @bugggghead for mega rad betaing skills and helping me figure out what the fuck I'm doing! Fun fact: I wrote this fic for three lines, one of which ("I'm so fucked up") I stole from the original dub of The End of Evangelion because I have no self-control, it was just too perfect.


End file.
